


The Way to a Witcher's Heart is Through His Horse

by i_know_its_0ver



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: BFFs, Fluff Fic, Friends to maybe more, Friendship, Gen, Jaskier needs to be loved by every living thing, M/M, slightly crack fic, terrible songwriting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:14:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24066421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_know_its_0ver/pseuds/i_know_its_0ver
Summary: Jaskier sets out to woo Roach, and in the process also manages to win over her rider.(or: how Roach got a new stepfather)(also: how Roach became a legendary wingwoman)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 24
Kudos: 459
Collections: The Witcher Alternate Universes





	The Way to a Witcher's Heart is Through His Horse

**Author's Note:**

> I am brand new to this fandom (late to the party, as always), and I haven’t read the books or played the games, so this is entirely based on the show. The timeline is slightly vague -- sometime early in the years between the jinn and the dragon. 
> 
> It’s just a fluffy little piece of ridiculousness, so don’t expect great literature here. Sometimes an idea takes hold and you just have to run with it.
> 
> I wrote this in a day and edited it myself, so please excuse any mistakes.

For months now Jaskier had been following Geralt across the continent on his _daring adventures of bravery and valor_ (a term coined in his newest ballad, you are very much welcome, Geralt). 

Following _on foot_ , to be precise, because Geralt still insisted that his horse could not possibly suffer the indignity of carrying a lowly bard-- not Geralt’s exact words, what he’d actually said was “no,” but Jaskier is more than capable of reading between the monosyllabic lines. 

Jaskier suspected that it may have had more to do with Geralt jealously hoarding his horse’s affections for himself (emotionally stunted man that he is), but he had in fact found Roach to be...more than a little standoffish towards him. Like master, like horse. 

It annoyed Jaskier to walk beside Geralt and Roach while they rode, all stoic and noble, not just because he was stuck hoofing it in not-so-comfortable shoes (yes, _thank you for pointing out that you told me not to wear them Geralt, so helpful_ ). Ok, yes, it was partly about his foot discomfort, though that had gradually been fading the more time he spent walking along dusty roads. 

But, he was man enough to admit, it was also because he wanted the damn horse --and her rider-- to _like him_. In general, creatures of all types tended to like Jaskier...with the exception of a few angry husbands who may have taken great joy in seeing him harmed and one possibly obliging Witcher, but that was beside the point. His parents had kept a full stable of horses who had always greeted young Jaskier with a happy whinny, and his father had a kennel of hunting dogs who followed him about like besotted paramours. Yes, animals loved him, thank you very much, just not _this_ animal. It was unnatural and insulting and it could not stand. 

It just didn’t sit right with Jaskier, this unfounded distrust of him. Had he been anything but delightful company to the both of them over the last few months? Had he somehow caused offense to a _horse_? It eased the sting a little when Geralt told him that Roach didn’t like _anyone_ but her master, but Jaskier’s entire persona was built around being the exception to the rule. He was determined to befriend that damn horse or die trying. 

...and, if in the course of his mission he also got on the good side of her rider, all the better for his continued physical wellbeing and creative inspiration. 

And so Jaskier set out on his second greatest mission (after rehabilitating Geralt’s public image): to make a friend and ally of the Witcher’s horse. 

\--------

They were camped in the woods on their way to nowhere in particular when Jaskier first decided to put his plan into action. Well, _plan_ might be overstating it a bit, because Jaskier had no more than the vaguest of ideas at that point, but vague ideas and a heavy dash of daring had been enough to get him through life thus far. 

Geralt and Jaskier had dropped their packs in a small clearing in the woods to make their camp for the night, and Geralt had removed Roach’s tack before going off to hunt for their dinner. As always, tending to the horse had been his first priority, and Jaskier absolutely _did not_ feel a pinprick of jealousy as Geralt brushed the day’s sweat from her coat and spoke to her softly. 

Jaskier was supposed to be collecting kindling for their fire, and he had every intention of doing just that, really, but while sweeping the forest floor for sticks he had come across a small clearing full of beautiful bounteous wildflowers in the full glory of their Spring bloom. The sight had immediately brought to mind ideas for new lyrics -- _my lady’s beauty is like the flowers of the field, natural and fair_ \-- but before he could reach for his notebook another plan occurred to him. Jaskier gleefully collected an armful of the beautiful blooms in shades of amethyst and gold and crimson, nearly giddy with his own brilliance; for had there ever been a lady who did not succumb to the charm of a beautiful bouquet? 

When he approached Roach with his fragrant armful she was, understandably he thought, somewhat dubious. Here was a suitor who had never paid his respects to her before, suddenly approaching with an extravagant gift. Any cautious lady would be skeptical, but overcoming that skepticism was Jaskier’s unique talent. 

Roach eyed him warily and shifted on her long legs, but she didn’t run. Geralt never tied her up (that could be a death sentence in an ambush, which happened far too frequently for Jaskier’s liking), but the well trained steed seemed to stay close to her master of her own volition. Jaskier could relate. 

He presented some of the flowers to her as a peace offering, waving them under her nose and cooing softly to her in a way that he knew would make Geralt grumble in disgust.

“Some flowers for the beautiful lady,” he crooned as her nostrils twitched and huffed. After another moment of wary looks she nibbled cautiously on one of the yellow blooms, and Jaskier stepped closer with an internal cry of triumph, careful not to spook her with his enthusiasm (yes, he was aware that his enthusiasm could be off-putting to some, _Geralt_ ). 

Once she had finished nibbling on the flower he produced a slightly wizened apple from his pocket. That would keep her occupied a little longer while he began to execute his plan. Roach took the apple from his hand and proceeded to crunch and chew in a surprisingly dainty way for such a large beast.

She still kept one deep brown eye trained on Jaskier as he moved to the side of her neck, cautiously extending a hand to rest on her flank. Her skin rippled the way it did to shoo off offending flies, which, _rude_ , but she continued to tolerate his proximity with wary patience. 

Jaskier settled the bundle of flowers on a nearby bush while he slowly and carefully set to work on his task, taking a section of Roach’s coarse hair and working his fingers through it. He diligently removed any knots or debris before parting it into sections and slowly weaving them together. 

“You should be honored,” Jaskier told Roach in his smooth steady tone, mouth-- as was its custom-- continuing to work steadily with the movement of his hands. “I learned this technique from a lovely countess…” he paused briefly to sigh at the memory, his fingers losing their focus as his mind wandered back to mornings spent in a grand bedchamber instead of the muddy woods. Roach stamped a hoof impatiently, recalling Jaskier to his task with a guilty start. 

“Her hair was blond, and I must say, no offense, my lovely Roach, quite a bit softer than horse hair. Not that it’s your fault, I’m sure with some brushing and oils your hair too could be soft as the finest elven silk.” Roach huffed at that, which was fair, Jaskier knew when his flattery had traveled too far into unlikely realms. 

“Her maid would work it into the most fantastical of shapes that I would not have believed possible had I not witnessed their creation myself of a sunny morn, lounging in her bed…” He trailed off again with a happy sigh, mind wandering while his fingers continued their steady work. He was definitely not as practiced at plaiting as a lady’s maid, but the dexterity born of long years of plucking delicate lute strings made his movements swift and sure. 

As he braided the chestnut mane his mind couldn’t help but drift to long white blond hair and how horse and rider might look with a matching coiffure, but that was an overly ambitious daydream for another day. For now he took pleasure in forming small and large braids and weaving them together. The end result, if he may say so himself (which he would -- Jaskier had learned over the years that he must be his own kindest critic) were nothing short of majestic. 

He retrieved the bundle of flowers from the bush and set about weaving the blooms through the braids, humming softly to himself and to Roach, until she was positively littered with beautiful pops of color. 

He took a step back to admire his work, hands clasped to his chest in a moment of pure, unadulterated joy. There were few things Jaskier appreciated more than true beauty, in all its many forms.

So enraptured was Jaskier with his own handiwork that he didn’t hear the subtle rustle of footsteps approaching. 

“What the hell have you done to my horse?” a familiar voice growled from far too close. 

Jaskier jumped and absolutely did _not_ yelp like a frightened child before turning to face Geralt, pride warring with embarrassment on his expressive face. “Isn’t she beautiful?” he asked, reaching out to adjust a flower. Roach stamped one hoof a quiet warning that her patience with his fussing had reached its limit for now. He pulled his hand back quickly and turned to beam at Geralt once more. 

“She looks ridiculous,” Geralt said in his usual monotone growl. Jaskier had faced harsher critics before, and remained unphased at this show of ingratitude. 

“Excuse you, she looks like the beautiful elegant lady she is, don’t you listen to him,” Jaskier corrected, addressing this last to the horse. Geralt continued to give both Jaskier and the horse a skeptical look, which somehow was mirrored in Roach’s baleful brown eyes. Had he actually _taught_ his horse that expression, Jaskier wondered with a begrudging sense of delight. Great, now the two of them were ganging up on him with their disapproval. 

After a moment of meaningful eye contact between horse and rider, Roach gave her whole body a long, rippling shake, tossing her mane about. Most of the blooms became dislodged and fluttered to the forest floor in a brief beautiful shower of color. Jaskier looked on in utter betrayal as Roach stooped her head to nibble at the fallen flowers, while Geralt, the jerk, just laughed and patted her on the neck with a gentle calloused hand. 

“The two of you wouldn’t know beauty if it bit you on the bottom,” Jaskier complained, gathering one of the fallen flowers to stick in his own lapel. Roach continued to munch on her bounty while Geralt ran an appraising hand over her braided mane. 

Jaskier turned away to go back to his original task of collecting the kindling, still feeling huffy and indignant at the lack of appreciation for his talents. He expected that Geralt was pulling the braids out right then, but when he returned to their camp he was pleasantly surprised to see them still intact (and to see Geralt sitting by an already crackling fire, preparing the rabbits he had caught). Roach flicked an ear at him briefly, but paid no mind as Jaskier dumped his small pile of sticks by the fire and found a clear spot to lay out his bedroll, smiling once again. 

Roach’s mane didn’t always stay so extravagantly styled (it just wasn’t always practical with their hard travel), but from then on there was more often than not at least one braid woven into her hair, which Geralt dutifully pretended not to notice. 

\---------

Gifts, Jaskier knew, were appreciated by all creatures. And, as the wise saying went, the best way to a lover’s heart was through their stomach. He couldn’t see any logical reason why this wouldn’t also apply to a horse. 

He knew that she loved apples, so he was always on the lookout in the market or as they passed through farmland. But apples, while a treat, were still relatively common. What Roach truly treasured, what she went particularly and uncharacteristically crazy for, was sugar cubes. Unfortunately those were a rare and costly delicacy for those who lived hand to mouth, like the Witcher. 

Which is how Jaskier found himself in the corner of a grand banquet hall, stealthily trying to shove a dainty saucer of sugar cubes down the front of his tunic without being noticed. He should have known, however, that stealthy was not his strong suit. 

“What in the world are you doing?” asked a gravelly but amused voice, and Jaskier started guiltily, looking over his shoulder to find Geralt leaning casually against the column that was supposed to be providing Jaskier with cover for his thievery. 

Jaskier straightened, shaking the cubes lower in his shirt and pulling out the cup. The sugar was somewhat scratchy against his skin, and he felt at least one cube break apart into sticky little granules. He had...maybe not thought this plan through. 

“Ah, nothing, nothing at all,” he bluffed, brushing past Geralt to place the cup back on one of the nearby banquet tables with practiced indifference. Nothing to see here, just an empty sugar bowl. 

Jaskier turned to leave but Geralt reached out to stop him with a hand on his stomach which -- dammit, caused another sugar cube to disintegrate into sticky clumps. He tried to cover the soft crackling noise with a discreet cough, but of course nothing made it past Geralt’s heightened Witcher senses. 

“I didn’t know you had such a sweet tooth,” Geralt drawled, smirking at Jaskier in that way that said _you are ridiculous and you can hide nothing from me so don’t bother trying_. At least that was how Jaskier interpreted the look. 

“They aren’t _for me_ ,” Jaskier insisted indignantly. Ok, so he had definitely smuggled purloined food in his clothing before, who could blame a starving artist, but that hadn’t been for _months_ , since his Witcher ballads had put his talents in high demand. 

Geralt’s smile slipped into a frown. “What, can’t your latest paramour afford her own sugar?” 

“No, she can’t, because she’s a _horse_ ,” Jaskier replied, enjoying the way Geralt’s face went so quickly from smug to annoyed to confused to blank. Whoever thought that Witchers did not have emotions had not spent more than a few minutes studying Geralt’s face, which was incredibly expressive if you knew how to read it. 

Right now it was saying “ _how did I come to be bosom pals with such an idiot_ ” (paraphrasing slightly). 

“They’re for Roach?” Geralt asked, his mask of neutrality slipping into one of fondness (for Jaskier or for the horse, it was hard to say, but a man could hope). 

“Of course they are, they’re her favorite,” Jaskier replied, already searching out the next nearest sugar bowl with which he could subtly abscond. 

Geralt shook his head and sighed. “Put them in your pockets next time, at least, so they don’t get crushed while you play.” Which...was a fair point, now that Jaskier thought about it. He swung his lute around from where it hung on his back and felt several more cubes crunch under its pressure, as the heat of his body started to melt the small granules. He was going to be dearly in need of a bath by the end of the night...or a willing companion to lick the sweetness from his chest, but that was a thought better not entertained while Geralt was still staring him down. 

Jaskier gave his companion a saucy wink and a showy salute as he began strumming his lute again, making his way across the room in search of more sugary treasures with which to shower his lady love. 

\-----

His offering (what hadn’t been crushed beyond salvaging after a long night in his pockets, anyway) had been most graciously accepted the next morning when Geralt and Jaskier went to fetch Roach and set back out on their travels. She had even allowed Jaskier to pat her face for a few moments while she licked the sticky sweetness from her gums. 

“Don’t give her too much at once, you’ll give her a stomachache,” Geralt had complained from where he was cinching her saddle in place. 

“Life’s joys are to be savored whenever they can be found,” Jaskier lectured Geralt, still petting Roach fondly. “If you don’t enjoy them today there’s no guarantee that you will have the chance tomorrow.” 

Jaskier could feel Geralt rolling his eyes, though he didn’t take his gaze off of Roach as she lipped at his hands for any last traces of lingering sweetness. 

Geralt said nothing though, just mounted his horse and set off, Jaskier walking by his side, as always. 

A few days later they stopped in a small market town to renew their supplies. Their coin was fairly plentiful after Jaskier’s performance at the banquet, and he was eyeing a display of tunics without too much interest when Geralt came up behind him and dropped a small parcel into his hands. 

Jaskier looked up with surprise -- the last he had seen of Geralt he was going to look for a new sharpening stone for his swords, but the brown parcel in Jaskier’s hands was much too light to be a whetstone. 

“Sugar,” Geralt said, looking away uncomfortably as Jaskier’s face lit up. “ _Do not_ give it to her all at once, I don’t want my horse getting sick for the sake of your silly life philosophies.” 

Jaskier couldn’t even bother to be insulted by that last bit; he knew his words held nothing but the utmost wisdom, no matter what Geralt may say. He hefted the little package in his hands, mentally calculating the number of cubes inside. He could bribe Roach for _weeks_ with this, he thought gleefully, already looking forward to all the nose scratches that were to come. 

\-------

“ _My beautiful Roach, so fair and true, in all the world, braver horses there are few._ ”

Jaskier strummed his lute as he sidled along beside Geralt, who was sitting astride his horse. The two of them were giving Jaskier some serious side-eye while he tried out several different keys before deciding on the perfect one to complement the brilliance of his lyrics. 

He took the song up with greater enthusiasm, his voice carrying over the open plain they crossed. 

“ _Her mane so brown and gait so swift, to ride upon her back is truly a gift._ ”

Ok, maybe he looked a little pointedly at Geralt at that last, but the man should know to properly appreciate the honor he had been given, an honor that _some very close friends_ still had not received. 

“ _She felled a mighty horde of ghouls with naught but her lovely hooves_ \--”

“Actually,” Geralt interrupted _quite rudely_ , “I think I was more than a little involved in that fight” -- but Jaskier ignored him. 

“ _She brought the ferocious griffin to its knees_ \--”

“That’s just not true,” Geralt grumbled under his breath. 

“ _Roach the strong, Roach the swift, singlehanded hero of the humble and just_ ,” Jaskier continued, rather enjoying Geralt’s increasingly sullen glares. He didn’t think it was just his imagination that Roach, on the other hand, was moving with a little more pep in her step, a little more pride in her stride, as he sang of her glories. 

Jaskier was fully committed to the ballad now, prancing around the road as if in the finest of palace throne rooms. 

“That’s not how any of that happened,” Geralt called after him. Jaskier skipped back to their side, fingers still strumming in perfect time. 

“Melitele’s tits, Geralt, are you really jealous of your _horse_?” He enjoyed watching Geralt grumble and look away with all the insulted dignity of a disgruntled cat. It was, frankly, adorable, and while earning Roach’s favor was definitely still his primary goal, watching Geralt sulk as Jaskier came up with ever more ridiculous lyrics was a reward all its own. 

Jaskier sighed in mock resignation and switched up his tune to something he had been working on in secret for the past few evenings. Sometimes he would practice new songs for his small audience while he worked out the kinks, but it was always fun to pretend that he was a musical genius who could compose a full ballad on the spot. 

“ _The mighty White Wolf and his steed so brave, together they set out, the world to save…_ ”

He was definitely _not_ imagining how the pair of them were both preening now, heads held proud and tall. 

Jaskier danced along, in the finest mood he had enjoyed in weeks, despite the usual drudgery of monster hunting and roughing it in the woods. This was why he had followed after Geralt in the first place, he thought to himself, smiling unguardedly as he hit the chorus with the full force of his considerable enthusiasm. 

\-----------

A few months into his perfect plan to win the favor of the Lady Roach, Jaskier had to go and become mortally wounded while fighting off a horde of kikimore single-handedly -- at least, that was the story he was going to tell in his next song. 

The truth was that he had tripped over a rut in the road and sprained his ankle, which was decidedly _less_ noble and heroic and not the sort of deed from which epics are born. 

But it meant, he realized quite quickly, that he could no longer trek the miles and miles that Geralt was used to covering each day, on foot. 

Jaskier didn’t always travel with Geralt. On many occasions their divergent occupations had led them in separate directions, only to be reunited by chance or design weeks or months later. But it had been months now since the last time they had parted ways, and Jaskier wasn’t ashamed to admit that he liked this life, liked following Geralt wherever he may lead and providing some much needed comic relief to the daily grind or horror and death. 

But now, with an unusable ankle, he was nothing but deadweight. 

“It’s fine,” Jaskier said to Geralt, though he could tell his tone was not at all convincing. “I’ll just wait here. We’re on a fairly well traveled road, for once, there should be a merchant with a cart along before too long. I’ll beg a ride in return for regaling them with an exclusive preview of my latest songs, and find an inn to hole up in until I’ve recovered. We’ll meet up again, eventually.” He tried to make that last sound certain, because he was always afraid each time they parted ways that it may be their last adventure together. The intertwining nature of their destinies was never certain.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Geralt grumbled, swinging down off his horse to examine Jaskier’s ankle with surprisingly tender hands. Even though the touch was light Jaskier couldn’t help a small wince at the pressure, which made Geralt frown at him in concern. Or annoyance; it was still hard to tell the two apart sometimes, even after years of dedicated study. 

Geralt stood back up and offered Jaskier his hand, helping to balance him on one foot by throwing Jaskier’s arm over his own shoulder and taking some of the bard’s weight. Jaskier tried not to focus on the firm bunch of muscles beneath his arm. Their stability was familiar and comforting, but also slightly thrilling. 

Geralt slowly walked them over to where Roach had been patiently waiting at the side of the road, taking the opportunity to crop a patch of fresh grass. 

Geralt stood next to the horse and looked at Jaskier expectantly, thought for what, Jaskier had absolutely no idea. Geralt sighed. “On three, then?”

“On three what?” Jaskier asked, bewildered. 

Geralt gave his familiar _you’re being really thick_ look and motioned to Roach. “On three I’ll boost you into the saddle. Be careful when swinging your bad leg over, you don’t want to bump it.”

Jaskier continued to stare dumbly at Geralt for a long moment. 

“Boost me...into the saddle,” he repeated, like the words were in the elder tongue and held no comprehensible meaning to him. 

“To ride. Into town,” Geralt bit out, like it pained him to keep explaining. “You obviously can’t walk, so you’ll have to ride.” 

“Oh.” Jaskier hadn’t even considered that as a possibility. While he had long dreamed of getting to ride Roach instead of trudging along on foot, he hadn’t thought they were there yet, that they had advanced to that level of their friendship. He had figured it would take maybe a decade, at the least. 

Sure, he had been _flung_ on her back like a sack of grain that time when the jinn had nearly killed him, but that had been different, a matter of life or death. This was... a favor, an invitation. A gesture of friendship.

He looked to the horse, seeking her acquiescence; it was, he had learned, ultimately her choice who to tolerate on her back, and if she was not in agreement she would make her displeasure known. Roach stood by stoically, watching their conversation with bored eyes and the occasional flick of her tail to ward off a fly.

“Three,” Geralt said without warning, hefting Jaskier up onto the saddle with ease. Jaskier cleared his injured ankle over the saddle just in time, letting out a surprised _oof_ as he settled in the seat. Roach stamped her hooves impatiently, but otherwise stood still and waited for the command to move. 

“Alright?” Geralt asked, a steadying hand resting on Jaskier’s thigh. It was...more than alright, it was brilliant, really, but Jaskier reigned in his excitement and merely gave a nod. He felt a little overwhelmed at the gesture, and feared that if he tried to speak right now he would probably make a complete ass of himself. 

Geralt, tragically, took his hand from Jaskier’s leg to take the reins as he prompted Roach into a steady walk. It was mildly insulting to be led about like a child on his first pony, but Jaskier wasn’t going to dare complain once he was finally allowed a ride. 

“Don’t you want to ride?” Jaskier asked, wondering why Geralt chose to walk beside him when they could both easily fit atop Roach’s broad back. 

“I wouldn’t want to jostle your ankle. Be sure you keep it steady,” Geralt replied. 

That was...considerate. Sweet, even. Jaskier smiled happily and enjoyed the view from atop the horse as they continued on a slightly-slower-than-usual pace down the road towards the next town. Jaskier couldn’t help reaching down to pet Roach gently on her neck and whisper words of thanks to her. 

When he caught Geralt watching him from the corner of his eye he whispered his thanks to Geralt too, who merely _hmm_ ’d in acknowledgement. 

This moment seemed worthy of a song, if there had ever been a moment worthy of such commemoration. Jaskier’s pack was still on his back, with his lute strapped to the top. He made an attempt to reach behind himself to grab it, and nearly topped right off the horse. Thankfully Geralt’s heightened reflexes came to the rescue, grabbing him before he could do more than flail for a second. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Geralt demanded, righting Jaskier in the saddle and keeping a steadying hand on the small of his back, as if he might suddenly sway again at any moment. 

“I thought I might compose an ode to this momentous occasion,” Jaskier said sheepishly, very conscious of the hand that still remained on his back. Roach had stopped at the comotion, but Geralt clicked her onward, not removing his hand. 

“How about you focus on not falling off my horse and dying,” Geralt said, one corner of his mouth lifting just slightly in what Jaskier thought of as his _I’m not sure whether to be amused or annoyed with you_ face. 

“Fine, it will have to be acapella, I suppose. I can always compose the instrumental accompaniment later. Let me see..”

He improvised an epic ballad of Jaskier the Dashing and Roach the Lovely, a long rambling mess of a song that he would never perform in front of a crowd, but he caught Geralt’s _trying not to smile_ face and continued on and on for over a dozen verses that made increasingly less sense. Roach bobbed her head merrily every time Jaskier broke into giggles at his own absurdity. 

They were no more than a few miles outside the town, and reached the inn in the village square just as dusk fell. Geralt led them to the inn’s stable, where a boy showed them to an empty stall and accepted Geralt’s coin in exchange for fresh grains and a bucket of water. 

“Easy now,” Geralt warned, helping Jaskier slide off of Roach’s back. He held Jaskier steady as he tested out the sprained ankle and found that he could rest it against the ground gently enough to keep himself stable while Geralt went about removing Roach’s tack and brushing her down. Jaskier wasn’t much help, but he stood by Roach’s head, gently stroking her cheeks and nose and thanking her for being a true and noble friend. 

Just as Geralt was passing behind him to move to Roach’s other side she nudged roughly with her nose, toppling Jaskier, who was still precariously balanced on one foot. He spun around as he fell, attempting to find something to hold on to, but instead found himself pressed to a sturdy chest clad in leather. Well. That was...fine. 

Possibly more than fine as Geralt’s strong arms came up to catch and steady him, holding Jaskier against him for a long moment until he seemed to realize he was doing so. 

“Um,” Jaskier stammered, trying to right himself but succeeding only in flailing for balance in the slippery hay covering the stable floor until Geralt held him steady. Jaskier’s nose was tantalizingly close to Geralt’s neck as he took a ragged breath. 

“Alright?” Geralt asked, his hands moving up and down Jaskier’s arms in a seemingly unconscious gesture of comfort. 

“Yeah, I’m...fantastic,” Jaskier said, finally looking up into Geralt’s eyes, closer than he thought he’d ever seen them before. They were warm and inviting and other things he knew Geralt would never consider himself to be. 

“Good,” Geralt murmured, continuing to look into Jaskier’s eyes for a long moment. It felt...important. Momentous. Jaskier didn’t dare to look away first, but after a moment Geralt smiled and moved his arms around Jaskier’s shoulders to steady him and turn him toward the inn. 

“Come on, let’s get you in a warm bath, it will be good for that ankle.” 

Jaskier could hardly argue with that, and went willingly along with the warm arm holding him close and steady. 

As they left the stable Jaskier looked back to see Roach watching them, her head hanging out over the stall door. He gave her a little wave and a whispered “thank you,” letting a full grin break over his face. 

Roach stayed in her stall, swishing the flies away and munching on her oats, confident that there would be sugar cubes in the morning. 

\--------

A few weeks later a new song began making its rounds in taverns far and wide, _The Dashing Bard and the Lovely Lady_. It had been much edited and improved by then, and the details of the lady being _a horse_ completely glossed over. It remained one of Jaskier’s favorite songs to perform, tossing a knowing smile to a dark figure sitting in the corner of the room, where no one could see him smiling back.

**Author's Note:**

> In my headcanon Jaskier has an urgent need to be loved by everyone and everything, but this may just be my bias because I can't imagine how anyone could NOT.
> 
> Anyway, HI NEW FANDOM I LOVE YOU, BYE.


End file.
